I’ve always been protective, especially of my mom. I remember as a kid, maybe only 4 years old, walking into the middle of the road we were crossing and sticking my little hand out as a stop sign to let my mom cross. As I got older, my protective instincts grew stronger, as I made sure every door was held open for my mom and that no one accidentally bumped into her. So when my dad left my family, I felt helpless. I couldn’t protect my mom from this. I couldn’t protect my sister from this. I couldn’t even protect myself.
Growing up, my normal was not everyone else’s normal. My family couldn’t do anything that really involved physical activity; the “activities” I did growing up were very different. We never went camping, hiking, skiing, or even for a family walk on the beach. In public or on vacation, my mom was usually in a wheelchair or my dad would put her on his shoulders. People would stare as we walked by. But none of that ever bothered me—it was just my normal, and I was okay with it. Besides that, I thought we had the perfect family. My dad had a good job, we went on fun vacations, and my parents were both leaders in the church. But when I was 13, everything changed. My “normal” came crashing down. I had to grow up fast and take on more responsibility, physically and mentally. I started doing the laundry for all of us. I was the one who had to lift anything heavy. I thought about how I would protect my mom and Kristi if anyone were to break into the house. I even let Kristi sleep in my twin-sized bed with me most nights for three years because I wanted her to feel safe.
I had faithful friends during this time, who reached out to see how I was doing, but none of them understood what it was like. All of my friends’ parents were still together, so they couldn’t relate to what I was going through. I remember sitting in a homeschool group when a friend mentioned she was upset because her dad was going to be traveling for four days. Reality hit hard. My dad wasn’t just traveling for a few days; we were never going to be a family again. I started to feel different and out of place; no one could understand my world.
For the next few years, my faith was challenged in every way possible. I questioned everything. Initially, I would hang out with my dad on weekends when he came to visit, but I decided I was supporting what he was doing by seeing him. So, I wrote him a letter and told him I didn’t want to pretend everything was okay. I didn’t want to see him when he came into town anymore until he decided to choose us. But he didn’t choose us. Eventually, I realized that I couldn’t ignore him forever but first I wanted him to hear me. Really hear me. We sat down with Bill, my parents’ old counselor, and talked about how I really felt. I had to be honest with my dad if we were ever going to have a real relationship.
Slowly, we started a new relationship that looked quite different than the one I had expected as a young girl. Today, I’m able to respect my dad and to appreciate his good qualities. I am thankful that he chose to still be a part of Kristi’s and my lives, and to make an effort. Even though I don’t agree with my dad’s choices and can see his flaws, I know we’re all flawed and all sin. I’m thankful I was able to be honest with him and that we have a good relationship now.
It was hard for me when the divorce was final: I had to face that our life wasn’t going back to the way it was. But the entire situation with my parents forced me to make my faith my own. I couldn’t be wishy-washy about it. Jesus was either real or he wasn’t. He was either going to sustain me and carry me through, or he wasn’t. I had to choose because I couldn’t just rely on my parents’ faith. I didn’t have to be strong, because God was strong enough for both of us. I found out that God is faithful and is able to sustain me through anything. My faith became real to me at a young age.
My mom and I used to fight a lot and through the darkest part of the journey, and my relationship with her was difficult. But somewhere along the way, she became my best friend. She helped make me the person I am today. I look up to her in more ways than she knows, and she has had the biggest influence on my faith. She is the person who I call and go to for everything.
Because of my mother’s disability, I see the world differently. I look out for those who aren’t as physically able. I don’t judge when families aren’t “normal”, because mine never was and never will be. I can be there for people who are going through really hard things and I’m not afraid of their pain. I encourage my friends to be honest—not only to themselves but to others. Let other people in. Don’t pretend that everything is fine when it’s not. And you can’t assume that other people know how you feel unless you tell them.
I never pictured my life looking this way, but I do know that I wouldn’t be the same person today if I hadn’t walked through all of these circumstances. I matured quickly. I see the world differently. And my faith would definitely not be the way it is today if I hadn’t seen first-hand how the Lord will sustain you through anything. So, if you’re going through something hard, be honest. Be honest with the people around you, with yourself, but most importantly with God. Your pain is real. Let people in. And allow the Lord to sustain and carry you through, because trust me, he will.
This short testimony is written by one of Vaneetha Risner’s daughters. Vaneetha has written a book for those experiencing the heartache of divorce—their own or a loved one's—called This Was Never the Plan. Grab a copy of the book to find comfort and honest, compassionate guidance rooted in God’s word and based on personal experience.
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